


Confessional

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Comfort Sex, Desk Sex, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-26 01:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14391513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: "What is something you would never choose to tell me?"





	Confessional

**Author's Note:**

  * For [track_04](https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/gifts).



“I’ve brought you some tea.” Martin was clutching a chipped red cup and looking at Jon hopefully. 

Jon almost snapped at him. It was practically reflex, to try and drive him away. He was busy, he didn’t want tea, didn’t want—

“Thank you, Martin.” He set down the notes he’d been gathering and took the cup from Martin, their fingers brushing. His skin was warm and slightly damp from the heat of the cup. As he took a sip, some small part of him relaxed.

“It’s Earl Grey, I know it’s your favorite. And I made sure to use loose leaf, not the Twinings or that weird stuff Tim likes.” He was wringing his hands, practically vibrating with uncertainty. And Martin didn’t deserve this. So Jon smiled.

“Was there something you needed, Martin?” It was late, far too late for Martin to still be working. Far later than Jon had intended to stay, but he just needed to find his notes on a few old statements, to try and put at least a few of the puzzle pieces together. 

“What did Elias say?” he said, all in a rush, like he couldn’t quite believe he was daring to ask. “After we left, I mean.”

Jon stared, and Martin folded his arms, shirt rucking up and exposing a sliver of skin at his waist. And Jon was just—tired. 

“Am I a monster, Martin?” He braced both hands on his desk, fingers digging into the wood. Not meeting Martin’s eyes, not wanting to see the truths that lay there. 

“What? No!” A warm hand pressed down on his, and Jon did look up then. Too close, and too much naked emotion in his eyes. “You’re a good man, Jon.” His grip tightened around Jon’s hand. Trying to offer comfort. Martin always was, even if Jon rarely deserved it. 

“Elias said that as Archivist, I have certain…abilities.” 

“The recordings. I’ve felt it too.” Jon blinked at him in shock. “You weren’t here, and I wanted to help. So I filled in. It’s weird, isn’t it, how the story takes you over.” 

He turned away from Martin then, yanked his hand away, and leaned against the desk, his back to Martin. 

“That’s not all.” He probably shouldn’t say anything to Martin. To anyone, really. But he needed this. “I can compel people. Force them to tell me things.”

“What?” A rustling of papers, and a thud as they hit the floor. Martin must’ve knocked them down. Always so clumsy when he was flustered. Footsteps fell heavy on the floor. “Show me.”

He was standing in front of Jon now, close enough he could feel the heat radiating from Martin’s body. He desperately wanted to lean into it, thought perhaps Martin wouldn’t even object. Not to a hug, at least. 

“What is something you would never choose to tell me?” His tongue felt thick and heavy, coated by some strange power. He’d dismissed it before. Mouth just dry, and if it went away on its own, well, it was hardly the strangest thing in the Archives. 

“I’ve wanked to fantasies of shagging on you on your desk.” 

He should’ve learned his lesson from Georgie. But that had been a mildly embarrassing, long past judgment. Not this, not—

“Damn it.”

“I am so, so sorry, Jon. I don’t know what came over me.” He was cringing, avoiding Jon’s eyes, horror at his words clear in his white knuckled hands. He couldn’t leave Martin like this. 

“I did. I told you, I can force people to tell me things. It’s I who should apologize.”

A sick warmth was building in his groin. Martin hadn’t backed away. It would be the easiest thing in the world, to reach out. To give him exactly what he wanted. What Jon wanted.

“I’m your boss.” 

“Oh, like no one’s fancied their boss before.” Martin rolled his eyes, and startled a laugh from Jon. “Anyway, you’re my age. It’s not like I fancy Elias.” 

Elias. Yet another monster.

“I’m not sure I’m any better.” 

“You didn’t know, did you? None of us did. It’s weird, sure. But it doesn’t make you a monster.” His hand rested lightly on Jon’s shoulder. And Jon wasn’t strong enough for this. Not anymore.

Mere inches, and their lips met, a brush of skin and an almost inaudible gasp from Martin. The kiss was chaste, their lips barely touching, but Jon presumed it got his point across

“Prove to me that I’m human.”

Martin was flushed, and wide-eyed, and Jon didn’t care anymore. Didn’t care that this was breach of trust, that his position meant this shouldn’t happened. Because the world might be ending, and there was no escape. They might as well have this.

“I want—I, Jon.” Martin was biting his lip, fingers gripping Jon’s shoulder hard. “I can’t say it.”

“Would it help—” He couldn’t believe he was asking this. “—if I asked you?”

There was no doubt Martin understood, that Martin knew now exactly what that entailed.

“Please,” he said. “I want you to.”

“Very well.” His skin felt hot and tight. He’d never been good with this sort of thing, always letting the other person take the lead. “What do you want?” 

“I want to bend you over your desk and fuck your thighs.” He covered his mouth. “Oh god, I’m sorry.” 

And Jon couldn’t help it. He laughed. 

“Been reading about the Ancient Greeks, perhaps?” 

“Look, I bought a whole box of books from a charity shop, and it just happened—”

Jon let Martin babble on as he got onto his knees, then reached for Martin’s trouser’s.

“I—what?” Martin’s voice cracked. It was kind of cute. And Jon was suddenly very glad that as far as he knew, no one could compel him.

“I don’t keep lube in my desk.” He unfastened the button and yanked down the zipper in one deft stroke. It had been far too long, but he hadn’t entirely lost his touch

“I—Right. Right.” He licked his lips. “I don’t have condom or anything.”

“I don’t care if you don’t. It’s not like I’ve been getting out much.”

Martin smiled ruefully.

“Me neither.”

Nothing to be done for it but to take the plunge. He tugged Martin’s trousers and pants down in one go, and felt his own cock twitch at the sound Martin made. He was already hard, of course he was. He interest had been very, very apparent. Jon wasn’t sure how he’d missed it for so long.

As he took Martin’s cock into his mouth, trembling fingers wove their way into his hair. Not pulling or controlling. Just holding. He went as deep as he could. To make this good for Martin, it’d be necessary. And Martin deserved something good. 

“Jon.” Martin’s voice broke. “You need to stop.”

A final swipe of his tongue, and he pulled off. 

“Right.” His lips felt stretched, but in a way he might be able to get used to. He stood with a groan, shifting awkwardly. He’d been hard when this started, put the blow job had only made it worse. When Martin gave him a worried look, he smiled.

“Getting old,” Jon said, one hand braced on the desk.

“You’re not even thirty, your birthday isn’t until autumn.” 

“You know my birthday?”

“Shut up,” Martin said. “And turn around.”

He moved farther onto the desk, bracing himself awkwardly on his forearms among the piles of paper and a battered old tape recorder. He closed his eyes, listening for the familiar whirring, but it was silent for once. Good. He wanted no part of Beholding. Not in this.

“Right, so I’ll just—” Martin’s hands weren’t shaking anymore, but he still seemed to hesitate, lingering on Jon’s hips.

“What do you want, Martin?” A gentle reminder. His hands tightened, coming around to the front to make quick work of his trousers and pants, and brushing tantalizingly against his cock. Jon groaned.

“I want you.” He leaned over Jon, body pressing him down, warm and completely human. Lips brushed his neck, and he closed his eyes.

“You need to move your legs closer.” 

Jon happily obliged, and felt Martin’s cock slide between his legs. There wasn’t as much lubrication as might be ideal, but he didn’t believe either of them would last long, if the jerky way Martin was moving was any indication.

“Your thighs, they look good. I mean, well-muscled. Oh, I’m terrible at this.” Martin fisted a hand in Jon’s shirt, and Jon tensed his legs. Martin groaned.

“I have been doing a lot of running away from monsters lately.”

He thrust in deeper as Jon strained to keep the tightness, jogging Jon’s right foot. He slipped, scrambling for a hold, and knocked a stack of papers onto the floor. 

“That’ll be a nightmare to organize later,” Jon said breathlessly.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll do it.”

“Whatever would I do without you?”

Martin didn’t answer, just waited for Jon to regain his footing. From the sound of it, Martin had spit into his palm, before settling back between Jon’s thighs. This time, when he thrust forward, he brushed against Jon’s balls, and he bit back a noise. Then again, deeper still, just the faintest caress against his cock.

It shouldn’t be as intense as it was, the press of Martin’s cock between his thighs. But it was, intimate and close and exactly what he needed, Martin’s body moving against him, reminding him the Archivist was not all he was. 

“Martin, please.” He sounded horrifyingly needy, but he didn’t particularly care. Because this was what made him human, this need, this connection of flesh and emotion. A hand slipped under his shirt, running along his back, tracing the old worm scars. He arched into the touch, thighs gripping tighter on reflex, and felt finger dig into his back.

A sudden stillness, and then wet, hot liquid on his legs. His trousers were likely filthy, but he’d needed to do laundry anyway. He just had to make sure Georgie wasn’t around to ask unfortunate questions. 

Martin sagged on top of him, reaching out a hand to stroke his hair. He was far too heavy for this to be truly comfortable, but for the moment, Jon didn’t mind, enjoying the heat and weight of him. Then with a groan Martin stood, grabbed Jon’s hips, and spun him around.

He wasn’t quite sure what he expected, but it wasn’t Martin immediately dropping to his knees and taking Jon’s cock into his mouth, licking off his own come. Jon dug his fingers into Martin’s hair, not nearly as polite as he’d been, urging him forward. Martin’s eyes were closed, his cheeks hollowed, lips pink and wet around his cock. Jon swallowed hard, then dared a shallow thrust forward. And Martin took it.

“Fuck.” He’d lusted after Martin for far too long, but he’d never imagined it would be so good, Martin easily rising to meet him, bobbing his head and swiping his tongue along a vein in the most devastating fashion

“Martin, you are truly a man—” He chocked on the words as Martin somehow took him deeper. “—of many talents.”

And then he came, his fingers buried in Martin’s hair, slumped limply against his desk. After a moment he slid to the floor, and held out a hand for Martin. They were both a mess, as was his office. He was almost tempted to leave it, but they’d never live it down if Melanie found out. 

Taking his hand, Martin scooted closed and leaned against him. He looked utterly daft, hair mussed from Jon’s less than gentle ministrations and face still bright red. And he was beautiful.

“What do you want, Martin?” He murmured the words into Martin’s ear, lips brushing against the shell. Martin shivered against him. 

“I want you to come home with me. And to sleep with me, actually sleep, though I mean, more sex would be fine too.” He licked his lips, and looked Jon straight in the eye. “And I’ll make sure you know you’re human.”

So Jon kissed him, and let his many sins melt away in the feeling of Martin’s lips against his, his hand against Jon’s stomach. And when they broke apart, he said, “Yes.”


End file.
